A spoon full of air to make the betrayal go down
by if-llamas-could-fly
Summary: "Did you look for me, Sam?" It was easier to let the question slide, to let him make his own assumptions. Because it wasn't that Sam didn't want to look, it was just that he wasn't sure what he was looking for.


**A/N Hey guys! I know, I haven't posted in a while, but I'm going through some crap with my writing, and I've been struggling to find inspiration. My muse is lying somewhere, dying, and I can't find it. it's not writer's block, because I ****_know_**** how to overcome that. This is some new affliction that seems to be immune to any of my cures. The point is that I've been floundering here, and I am just ****_not happy _****with what my writing's become for the past month. I've been pushing myself to write, and it's just turning out to be complete shit, and this thing I've written now is one of the better things I've managed to put up.**

**So, my writing failures aside, I should probably tell you about this story. It's essentially the vaguest rendition I could possibly give of Sam's year after the season seven finale. Why'd I write it? Because I hate the explanation that the writers gave, and I wanted to give my own, while still remaining within canon. Yay to strange motives! Anyway, enjoy! :) **_~Sammy_

* * *

No no no no no. It's okay. _It's okay_. It has to be. It _is_.

It's not.

_No. Oh God no. No._

_Alone._ So alone. Completely alone.

Abandoned.

No, not abandoned. Never abandoned. Never left alone.

But he's alone anyway, and he's abandoned too.

And wasn't that hole in his head supposed to be fixed? Wasn't he supposed to be free of the voice? Wasn't that the point of the angel's sacrifice?

He can feel whispers of fire brushing against his hand. _Notrealnotrealnotrealnotreal._

And he can feel ice creeping through his shirts. _I'm out I'm free I'm on earth I'm here I'm alone._

He said that he'd never leave him, that he'd always be stone number one. Always there to keep the Hell at bay.

He's not.

And it's happened before. He's been gone before. Too many times to count.

But he's been there too. Been there, holding dead green eyes, and a lifeless corpse. There's no corpse now.

Just thin air.

Like they never existed.

Like that dirty trench coat never existed. Like that wall of security and love that was his brother never existed.

Like it was all just... never there.

And the disappearing king of hell's said the same thing, _alone_, and the prophet's gone too, _never existing_.

_It's okay_.

But it's not. Because they might've never existed. They're _gone._

_Gone alone dying dead leave now move move move just move get out of here now move._

And the Impala's trashed, but he crawls into it anyway, sliding into the passenger seat, _where he belongs_, and stares at the shattered windshield. He curls up, and he shivers.

He's shivering from the cold, because he's always had the heat of another person behind him.

He's shivering from the fear that's coursing through his veins, because he's alone, and he's lost.

He's shivering because he doesn't know how not to.

_He would know, he'd tell me how to stop, how to move, how to breath, how to live._

He just watches the skies shift through the cracks in the glass, waits until it's dark. _Dark is where I belong._

And he pulls put the only tools he could handle, and he pulls and pounds until that black beast can run again. _He'd want her to be perfect._

He sits in the passenger seat.

The car won't drive itself.

He pushes himself behind the wheel, and a few dozen tears slip down his face.

He puts his hand on the vinyl of the dash, and a sob racks through his chest.

He put his foot on the gas pedal, and suddenly he can't breathe.

He fixes up the car, has a complete break down, and he _drives_.

He hits a dog.

He meets a girl.

He pretends he's not alone anymore, and he has a _purpose_.

He doesn't think about that brother he thought he used to have, or that friend who fixed him up as best as he could, or the cold voice of the devil that still serenades him in his sleep.

He doesn't think about how they're all _gone_. Because he was alone, and he didn't even have a corpse to burn. Didn't have even the slightest chance of understanding.

He was abandoned, and he hurt all over.

The girl and the dog made the hurt go away for a bit.

Then he gets that phone call, and he's not alone anymore.

"_Did_ you look for me, Sam?"

_I didn't. I should've. But I didn't. Because, for a year, Dean, you were gone, and I didn't have a corpse to burn._

And then those green eyes that he'd missed so much, that he'd tried to forget, that he'd etched into his memory, those very eyes, they turned to frost. And he tried to explain, but he couldn't.

Because the last year _had_ happened.

Because he hadn't looked for his brother.

Because he let himself believe, for a moment that spanned a year, that _maybe, _just _maybe_, his brother never existed.

So he'd take the hard eyes and the distant words.

He'd take the broken trust and the lost faith.

He'd take the bitter medicine he deserved, with a spoonful of air to help it go down.

Because he was still alone, just like he always was.

_It's okay_.

It's not.

* * *

**A/N And... that's that! My self confidence has already gone for a toss here, so I'd really appreciate it if you guys didn't razz me for how sub-par this is compared to the rest of my stories. If you absolutely ****_have to_****, then fine, do it, but please try not to. I'd love to hear what you thought of this though. Review! :) **_~Sammy _


End file.
